


Farewell Forever

by Agib



Series: Febuwhump 2020 [10]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Beating, Buried Alive, Canon Temporary Character Death, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Episode: s02ep14, Episode: s02ep15, Hurt Spencer Reid, Kidnapping, M/M, Multiple Personalities, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Psychological Torture, Seizures, Spencer Reid Whump, Stabbing, Swearing, Temporary Character Death, Tobias Hankel can fight me, Torture, Unsub | Unknown Subject, Whump, Worried Derek, Worried Derek Morgan, but temporary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22648384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agib/pseuds/Agib
Summary: Tobias Hankel had their youngest agent.Briefly, Morgan wondered if they had tried harder, driven faster, thought smarter, would Spencer ever be in this situation?
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Series: Febuwhump 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619311
Comments: 35
Kudos: 612





	1. Farewell Forever (Farewell, My Forever)

**Author's Note:**

> Additional Warnings:
> 
> In this chapter there's a really brief moment (after Hankel goes to put the belt around Spencer's arm to inject the Dilaudid) where Spencer freaks for a second, assuming Tobias' personality might be the type to assault him like _that_ but he realises he's not after barely half a sentence. So it's super vague and implied, but I wanted to mention it as a warning just in case!

“Just as I’m getting my groove thing going, bam! We’re back at the B.A.U.” Derek is looser tonight, and likely because of the beers he had downed at the club. Emily is the same, she laughs at more things when she’s had a few, Spencer notes. Penelope and JJ are fine, they both have a habit of nursing their drinks for over an hour at a time. Spencer had a soft drink – it’s childish he knows – and Aaron had been the designated driver for his wife anyway.

So really, the first night spent on the case was going to be interesting in Spencer’s eyes. Having Derek in a good mood was rare, but enjoyable, and Emily was the fun one most of the time anyway.

“You know statistically a case doesn’t come in with any more frequency if you’re at a party or gathering than if you aren’t. It’s a trick of the mind, we merely remember the ones that came in that way more.” Spencer wraps his fingers around his coffee mug. They were supposed to be for ‘sobering up’ although hardly anyone was ‘drunk.’ In fact, he was stone sober, he just had a caffeine addiction.

“Besides,” Emily says with a grin. “Is it really that hard for you to get your groove _thang_ going again?” She laughs outright and Penelope does too. After a moment of consideration Derek chuckles, and Spencer smiles into his mug, glad the mood is high tonight.

Gideon joins them, and JJ begins the briefing.

After that, the mood slowly takes a nosedive.

With two dead in under five minutes, an unsub identifying their dominant counterpart as ‘Raphael’ and a page from the Bible with a highlighted passage – a clear signature – the team was on the jet heading for Georgia in under an hour.

Within the confines of the jet, the unsub’s emergency call still ringing in their heads, and the crime scene pictures spread out in front of them, the team was quickly in an analytical frenzy.

This case would be difficult, they knew, mission-based killers never stopped until they were forced to. These kinds of cases almost always had a high victim count, but what was most worrying was the fact that killer’s like these weren’t willing to let anyone or anything get in their way without a fight. These cases were most dangerous for the team as individuals, it had the highest risk of almost any other type of case.

But that fear had to be pushed back for now. They couldn’t be any more hesitant than normal. Not when there was the potential for so many other victims.

\----

After Morgan found the camera in the laptop, and Penelope had found the recordings of the unsubs, the team regrouped.

As they spoke, Morgan watched the way Reid was fidgeting in front of the laptop they had taken from the victims’ household.

“Agent Franks, does this building have wireless internet?” Reid asked quietly.

“Yeah, why?”

“The camera’s on right now…” Morgan stepped forward on instinct, Hotch immediately glanced towards the webcam Reid had been unknowingly sitting in front of for the better part of half an hour. “It’s connected itself to the internet and it’s streaming a video feed somewhere.” The younger agent said sharply, moving himself further away from the viewpoint of the camera.

“Can we trace the feed to the destination?” Hotch asked, his tone rushed.

“If we keep it open Garcia might be able t –” Reid was cut off by an incessant beeping from the laptop, everyone moved closer as he cautiously sat down in the chair again.

_The armies of Satan shall not prevail._ In bright, bold red text flashed up onto the screen, word by word.

Reid’s shoulders slumped and he turned in his chair towards the team. “It turned off.”

“They’re controlling it remotely.”

“Is that even possible?”

“I’ll call Garcia –”

\----

They had their first solid lead, an eyewitness report of a prowler from outside their victims’ house.

“Tobias Hankel, lives about an hour from here,” JJ read aloud.

With the clock ticking on the next victim and the further unravelling of the lengths this hacker-murderer unsub duo were willing to go in the ‘name of the lord,’ Hotch had to jump on anything they had.

“It’s a long shot, but he might be able to give us a description. Why don’t you and Reid go out there, see if you can find Mr. Hankel and see if he remembers something.” JJ nods, putting her file down and turning to Reid who gives an eager ‘on it’ before they turn to leave.

And suddenly Agent Franks is talking about another murder only several minutes ago, and the task Hotch just gave seems inconsequential in comparison to the fresh crime scene.

_If he had known, if any of them had thought to investigate the tech support lead before the eyewitness report, maybe – maybe Spencer would be okay. Maybe they could have prevented things from ever spiralling to rock bottom. To a farewell this great._

_They tracked the dogs from the second and third murder’s video. Hankel. Tobias Hankel. If they had that lead any earlier than when they did… things could have been different._

\----

Reid was the one who made the connection first. It had been the response time, that was what the report about the prowler had been concerning.

When JJ’s mind caught up with Reid’s, her first instinct was to get back in their car and call for backup. Reid had already broken into a jog, making his way around the house when JJ began moving after him.

“Reid!” She called, not fond of when the young agents legs worked as fast as his mind. By the time she had caught up to him, he had already solved everything.

“He’s the unsub!” He’d yelled. “He’s in the barn, come on!” It was pitch black around them as they ran, the only light had come from the array of screens within the home. Out by the barn, where Reid was bent low, they could barely see. “He’s in here.”

“You sure?” JJ hadn’t seen Tobias run, hadn’t watched him leaving.

“You ever seen me pull this thing out when I wasn’t?” Reid asked incredulously, nodding towards his gun. “Call Hotch,” he suggested.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, Reid. We have no cell service.” JJ already felt at enough of a disadvantage an hour away from the rest of the team, outside at night, adding the lack of contact they had only made it worse.

“Right, of course we have no service,” Reid had complained.

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know, but he’s definitely in here…” Reid pointed out. JJ busied herself with her gun, switching the safety off. “You cover the front, I’m gonna go around back. Hotch knows we came here, he’ll come looking for us. We’ll just wait him out!” JJ began to protest immediately but Reid was already back on his feet, scurrying off around the barn.

“No, no, no. Reid – are you sure we should –” And he was gone. “Split up…” she finished, unsure of her own capability to apprehend a potentially armed unsub, let alone feel confident in either of their abilities when split up.

She could barely make out anything Spencer had yelled after that. Then the barn door was moving in the wind and she couldn’t stand outside doing nothing when there was a murderer on the loose.

\----

“Why are you runnin’ from them Devils, boy?”

“They’re the F.B.I!”

“They’re Devils! I’ve been doin’ the Lord’s work. You’ve got _nothing_ to be afraid of.”

“I don’t wanna do this anymore… _ah!_ ”

_And there it was. The twinge of pity Spencer couldn’t hold back from unsubs who were hurt this way._

“Don’t disrespect me, boy!”

“Sto - _ah!_ I’m sorry!”

“You don’t got no choices! The Lord summoned you to do his work.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

_Thick, heavy guilt he felt at hearing the abuse. He had to apprehend, even if a killer was hurting, they couldn’t hurt others._

A startlingly loud echo of gunfire came from the barn and fear swept through Spencer’s veins as hard as the empathy had been. JJ could be hurt, or in trouble, and he was standing in the middle of a cornfield, listening to the unsubs.

“JJ?!” He yelled, barely halting from his mad dash to reach the barn to listen for a response.

And all he could feel was the sharp, unprompted crack of pain across his cheek. The soft dirt beneath him as he hit the ground, and the feeling of a shoe sole pressing back against his hand as he twisted to reach his gun and failed.

Instinctively, his hands went up in resistance. He had no other weapon, no other means of defence, and he had to show it.

A gun – his gun – was pointed downwards at his skull, and he used his elbows to scramble for purchase on the ground as he shuffled backwards, away from the firearm in his face.

“Wait, wait – wait –” he had begged.

“Couldn’t have stopped him by myself!”

"Okay, o – okay,” his breath had been hurried, barely there in the first place.

“I tried to warn everyone…”

“Just relax, Mr. Hankel. Alright?” _Don’t shoot, don’t hurt me, not yet._

“Shoot him,” Tobias yelled, his voice lower and matching that of the supposed second unsub. Reid’s face contorted in confusion. “I don’t want to,” he argued with himself, the voice more plaintive now. His face hardened suddenly, his entire demeanour shifting as he spoke again. “I said _shoot him_ , weakling. He’s a Satan.” As the hand holding the gun began to shake again, the posture switched once more. Quieter. “He didn’t do anything –” Deeper. “I won’t tell you another time, boy. Shoot him!”

_He was going to die here, in this field. He knew it. Multiple personality disorder, it was obvious. The entire case made sense now, holes in their profile filling as he quivered on the dirt floor of the corn field. He would be the next victim, these unstable killer’s didn’t halt in their mission to maim and torture._

\----

_“He cannot break you. He cannot break you.”_

_**Farewell.** _

_Oh, but he will._

_This dirt, this grave._

_He’ll fall, he’ll break._

_There was no doubt._

_“I’m not gonna sleep until I get our boy home.”_

_**Forever.** _

\----

Morgan had never broken so many traffic laws in his life up until that drive to Hankel’s address that should have taken them an hour. It took him twenty-eight minutes.

JJ was in the barn, crouched low and hair wild. She was shaken, and once the team had calmed her, all she could say was what they already knew.

Tobias Hankel was the unsub.

He had taken Reid.

_He had Spencer._

\----

There was a lightbulb above him. It was fuzzy, unfocused. Something smelled like death. Maybe it was him, his head certainly felt like it.

Someone was moving as he forced his eyes open.

“They’re gone.” The someone said, their voice even and unfeeling.

“Who are they,” he asked. His voice was quiet and sporadically crackling from disuse. His head felt caved in like a collapsed brick wall and his vision was swinging as wildly as the lightbulb had been.

“It’s just me now,” the someone answered. And if that wasn’t a terrifying answer, Spencer didn’t know what was. He worked his jaw, clenching his eyes shut as the nausea bubbling in the pit of his stomach threatened to choke him.

“W – wh – who’re you?” He managed, barely forcing down the bile that came with his words. His head pounded with every pulse of his heart, and as his eyes blinked open again the pain increased tenfold.

“I’m Raphael.” It was not. It was Tobias Hankel. Spencer could make out that much. His nausea increased violently as he inhaled to calm himself.

“What’s that smell?”

“Burning fish hearts and livers, keeps away the Devil.” Tobias – Raphael as he believed – was standing stock still, his posture straight as he still managed to loom over Spencer who was slumped in a wooden chair. “They believe you can see inside men’s minds.”

With how his skull felt right about then, Spencer wondered if Tobias could see his brains leaking down the side of his head.

“S’ not true,” he argued blearily. “I study human behaviour –”

“ _Shhh_ …” Spencer let his head fall back, letting the chair take most of his weight. Something silver glimmered before him. “I’m not interested in the arguments of men.” Tobias held up a bullet he had taken from the gun Spencer had just become frighteningly aware of. “You know what this is?” He had to bite his tongue to hold back something sarcastic or obvious. “It’s God’s will,” Tobias answered after Spencer’s silence.

The bullet was pushed into the gun, spun, loaded and aimed.

_Russian Roulette with his life,_ Spencer realised. _Don’t make me go away. Don’t send me away forever._

“You don’t have to do this,” he promised shakily. Perhaps the real Tobias would resurface.

Raphael spoke, Spencer didn’t hear what he said over the thick, impending fear crawling up from his gut into his throat and choking him silent. He flinched about in the chair; the trigger was pulled. 

There was quiet.

He let out a breath.

He was alone for hours.

\----

When Tobias kicked the door in, it was day again. Spencer had been able to keep himself entertained with the mix of fear and the sensation of his own blood drying slowly against his scalp.

“What are you staring at, boy?”

“You’re not Raphael,” he hated how timid his voice was. But this kind of unsub didn’t profile as the type to react well to confidence or defiance.

“Do I look like Raphael?” The man spat. He would react well to subservience, appreciation. Anything to show loyalty, to establish control.

“Thank you, f – for burning those,” Spencer said. “Keeping us safe,” he added quickly as the man’s face turned towards his, anger flashing clearly on his features.

“Don’t try to trick me.”

“I would never try to trick y –”

“You’re a liar,” the man accused, turning bodily to face Spencer’s hunched form.

“I’m not a liar,” he said, flinching minutely as the man grabbed a thin log, crossing the room with an expression that only foretold pain in his eyes.

“Lying’s a sin,” he growled.

“I’m not a liar!” He was tugged forward in the chair, his hands blanching up in reaction. The handcuffs jangled mockingly. The man yanked at Spencer’s shoe.

“This will be over quickly if you just confess your sins.” He knocked aside the shoe, sneering at the mismatched socks.

“I’m not a sinner,” Spencer tried again, using every ration of willpower he had to not kick out at the man.

“We’re all sinners,” Tobias argued cryptically. The grip on Spencer’s ankle tightened enough to bruise, and he stammered out the first Bible quote he could recall.

“I know every word of the Bible; I can recite it for you.” He inhaled on a stutter, watching for the man’s expression to soften. If anything, it hardened.

“Devil knows how to read too,” Tobias said sternly. He tore away the mismatched socks.

“I’m not a Devil – I’m not a Devil! I’m a man, my name is Spencer Reid and I have a Mother, and I have a Father too,” _hardly_ “just like you. And they taught me the Bible.” He was begging now, Spencer registered somewhere amidst the panic. He was begging, stumbling over his words and pleading to be given the chance to recite the Bible to the man who killed who knows how many ‘sinners.’

“Time to confess, Spencer Reid.” He was tugging now too, weakly trying to pull his leg back towards his chest, struggling in the chair and jolting every few seconds in expectation of the pain.

When the log came down, it was crippling enough for the first thoughts Spencer had to be _won’t be running away anytime soon_. “Confess.”

_Nothing to confess. Nothing to say. Nothing he’s done wrong except take his family – the team – his friends – his whole life – for granted._

And it hurt and it burned. He could hardly breath his skull was on fire and so were the soles of his feet.

And he was alone once more.

\----

When Morgan found the hatch door outside, Hankel’s house, he thought _this was it. They’d find Spencer and he’d be scared, but unharmed. Probably shaken like the rest of them, but alive._

When he found the body of Hankel’s father, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was good – they had one unsub, Spencer would cope for longer – or it was worse. A paranoid, organised yet disorganised man with multiple personality disorder holding their youngest team member and doing God knows what to him.

_Farewell. The oppressed cannot remain the oppressed forever. Farewell, my forever._

\----

Again, when Tobias came in, it was dark. Again, he was carrying something. It was a bloodied animal; Spencer couldn’t work out what it was. His head wound made everything hazy. He was concussed, probably seriously. 

“You need to eat,” Tobias – truely Tobias now – said worriedly.

“What’s your name?” Spencer asked, needing to know. _Will he hurt me. Will he kill me._

“Tobias.” _Thank God_. “I’m sorry if he hurt you.” _You hurt me. You’re hurting me. It hurts. I can’t – it won’t stop – I can’t –_

Tobias gave Spencer an obvious once over, shifting slightly on his feet. He glanced downward, his hands moving to unsecure his belt and _not that – never that_.

“What are you doing?!” Spencer cried, recoiling harder than he had when Tobias had used the log.

Tobias now, however, was crouching down, the belt in his hands looping around Spencer’s arm.

He relaxed, still unsure of what the belt was for, but aware he wasn’t about to be… _that wasn’t what the removal of the belt had meant._ “Nonono – don’t. Please don’t.” It pulled taught despite his protests, tightening securely around his bicep. The buckle bit into his flesh.

“It helps,” Tobias promised over Spencer’s panicked inhales. “Don’t tell my Father,” he asks. “He doesn’t know they’re here.” A medical vial and a needle, likely unsterilized, were pulled from Tobias’ pocket. Spencer lurches in the chair, his bare feet digging against the hardwood floor.

“Please! I – I don’t want it – I don’t want it! _Please…_ ”

“Trust me,” Tobias says, something firm in his voice, “I know.”

“Please don’t,” he beseeched outwardly now.

Something cold was flooding his veins, and Spencer immediately registered the feeling as _wrong_. His whole arm burned and tingled relentlessly as his eyes fluttered. It was the oddest sensation he’d ever experienced. His whole body felt light, his head resting against the back of the chair.

Gracelessly, the world went dark.


	2. Graceless (Graceless Souls Shall Soon be Damned Souls)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The video feeds and the team's reaction to them as the time between Spencer's disappearance stretches out further and further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! This was fun! Seizure time!
> 
> Scream CM prompts and requests and ideas at me on my tumblr (same username as on here) pls I'm craving it <3

The man – The Devil – sat, clumsily slumped against the back of the chair. Its frame was small, almost one of a child’s. It was mumbling in its haze, blood dried against one side of its head.

_“M’ not weak… m – m not… not – weak…”_ It was pathetic. It was clumsily shifting about, brows furrowing. Stupidly, the Devil had his throat exposed, and it would have been too easy – far too simple to slit it open and watch the crude, evil life seep out of it as fast as the blood would surely spill.

“I don’t give a damn whether you’re weak or strong,” he seethed instead. Who could ever believe a Devil this vulnerable and feeble could ever be anything but an ungrateful pile of limbs trembling away from his voice? “Yell all you want, boy,” he tormented, “ain’t nobody gonna hear you where you are.”

The Devil hiccupped one shaky inhale that sounded more like a choked-up sob, its eyes moving frantically under its lids before it peeled them open with much effort.

And with that motion, with this pitiful boy blinking up at him in fright, Raphael shrieked deeply.

He kept going, ignoring the way the Devil moaned again in its chair, limbs sinking on their own accord as it shuddered in dread.

\----

Attempting to profile was easy, they had their unsub, had the diaries, the technological trail, the highlighted and annotated copy of the Bible.

What was hard was the fact that their victim was _Spence_.

Painfully young, innocent _Spencer_. He deserved more than this, he shouldn’t be hurting – none of the team should ever be hurting – but Spencer… he was their rock. Pull him out of the equation and the entire team crumpled to the ground like a childless parent.

He was so lively, bumping into things with his head in a book, smile on his face even throughout difficult times when the team couldn’t muster a smile. He was there, he fought for them.

Nobody should target someone as naïve and blameless as Spencer Reid.

\----

One sock on, one foot bare. Its head was slumped against its chest. The Devil took shuddery breaths. He no longer mumbled, only trembled at intervals and jerked about helplessly as it twitched.

He couldn’t help but use force as he buried a hand in the thick, tangled knots and wrenched the Devil’s head back. It smacked against the back of the chair, choking on a cry.

“You ready, boy?” He questioned. The Devil caught its breath, wincing hard and not fighting the grip in its hair.

“R – R – ‘eady for what?” It asked plaintively. Its entire body trembled with each movement.

“My weakling son thinks God gave you to him for a reason.” Watery eyes stared up at him through slits. Disgusting. He forcefully yanked his hand away, lip curling in disgust as the Devil’s chin hit its chest again, too weak to hold its own weight any longer. “Let’s see if we’re both right.”

He wrenched the chair around on the floor, ignoring the wild gasping of breath that came from the Devil. He placed the tripod, angling the camera with practiced ease. The Devil looked inconsequentially tiny on the small display.

\----

Derek had been watching Penelope work, the fear lingering slightly in his throat as they laboured on a lead which could take them somewhere.

When the feed went dark, and small blinking symbols appeared on the array of screens, he tensed.

“What happened?”

“I don’t – I don’t’ know,” Penelope said curiously. He turned his head back to the screen when the lighting shifted.

His heart plummeted into the churning, fearful mess of his stomach.

_Spence_ , on every monitor, curled back into a chair, his shoes missing and blood coating one side of his head.

“Guys, guys get in here!” He yelled over Penelope’s soft _oh my God_.

A chorus of fear-fuelled gasps and unrestrained anxiety made itself audible in the team as they gathered around the screens.

“He’s been beaten…”

“Can’t you track him?!”

Derek had to turn away, a sick feeling crawled up his throat. _He was hurt. He looked terrified. The kid – his best friend – more – was hurting, bloodied._ He twitched weakly in his chair, sniffling quietly. He didn’t look at the camera, didn’t acknowledge them.

_Not knowing was hard, but seeing this… understanding what had been done in the hours of lost time… it was more than excruciating._

“I’m gonna put this guy’s head on a stick,” Derek managed. His entire body was flooded with pent up anger at the sight of the kid – the blood. He could barely make out the conversations of his teammates.

_“You really see inside men’s minds?”_ A stiff voice came from the monitor. Spencer’s head moved, looking at someone outside of the frame. _“You see these vermen?”_ The deep voice asked. Spencer’s eyes sluggishly bounced around, looking at something the camera didn’t pick up. _“Choose one to die, I’ll let you choose one to live.”_

Spencer stayed quiet for a moment, and then.

_“No.”_ His voice was quiet, defiant but not confident.

_“Thought you wanted to be some kind of saviour?”_ There were thuds, and then a shadow moved at the bottom of the frame. Spencer tilted his head slightly, looking upwards towards the voice.

_“You’re a sadist on a psychotic break. You won’t stop killing, your word’s not true,”_ he argued, strength gathering slightly.

Derek rubbed his temples, shaking his head. _God, Spence… don’t provoke him. Please don’t provoke him. I can’t see you hurt any more than this._

_“The other heathens are watching,”_ the voice – Tobias as one of his other selves – pointed out.

Spencer’s eyes moved, staring right into the camera.

Derek leaned in, his fists clenching at his sides. _He was hurting. He was terrified. Those eyes – he couldn’t – couldn’t breathe._

_“Choose a sinner to die, and I’ll say the name and address of the person to be saved.”_

Now that Spencer had looked once, Derek noticed, he couldn’t stop glancing hesitantly back towards the camera. He needed them, and he needed them _soon_.

_“I won’t choose who gets slaughtered, a – and have you leave their remains behind like a poacher.”_ Spencer says, only just loud enough for the feed to pick up his words.

A soon as he had spoken, he jerks backwards as the shadow shifts, Tobias storming into the frame.

Derek flinches, his heart beating wild in his throat as he watches the kid being gripped by his shoulders, yanked upwards and into Hankel’s chest. He cringes obviously, his chin turning away in discomfort.

_He’d never liked touch, not even brief affection from people he didn’t know as well as the team – and even then, Derek was the only one who could touch his shoulder or ruffle his hair without invoking a nervous balk._

He grit his teeth together, watching Spencer’s head flopping about weakly, neck unsupportive, as he was shaken with rough hands.

_“You really see into my mind, boy?_

He was quivering, tense and vividly shaken from the contact. With his feet dragging on the ground, the bend in his knees and the angle at which he was held, Spencer had to look up at the man despite his usual height.

_“Can you see I’m not a liar?!”_ Tobias screamed, shaking the prone form again, his body rattling about like a rag doll. Spencer’s eyes squeezed shut. He wanted away – he needed _help,_ Derek knew how he hated this. _“Choose one to die. Save a life, otherwise they’re all dead.”_

The kid was being forced to play God, and Derek cringed knowing how hard Spencer fought every day of his life trying to save the victims they worked to find. _And now he was the one that needed saving,_ Derek thought bitterly. His teeth creaked as he had to watch Tobias shoving Spencer back, downwards into the chair. His frame rocked uneasily, his consciousness fading for a moment before picking back up. The kid’s rapid, panicky breaths filled the room.

_“A – alright,”_ he forced out, breathless from the adrenaline. _“I’ll choose who lives._ He was downtrodden, terrified for his life but more so for those he knew Tobias would murder in cold blood.

_“All the same,”_ Tobias said gravely. Spencer watched something out of frame again, no doubt the video feeds of who knows how many potential victims. Derek had known the kid long enough to be able to tell when his brain was working overdrive. His nose scrunched, his forehead pulling as his eyebrows drew together. Normally it was endearing, watching the boy on the jet curled up with a case file, his face screwed up in thought. Now it was just a mockery of better times.

_“F – far right screen,”_ Spencer choked out. He looked horrified with himself, knowing he was letting one live over another. He knew nothing about these people, and he was forced to choose who died and who lived.

Tobias rattled off a name and an address, the team sprung into action. Penelope had the number in seconds and Gideon was speaking to the woman in under a minute. Derek kept his eyes concreted on Spencer, watching his expression drop.

_“Raphael?”_ Spencer said quietly, brown eyes tracking movement off screen. He shuddered in his chair for a moment, his eyes moving to the left, and then the feed went black.

Before they had seen him, Derek had been coping. He worked as if it were any other case, ignoring the stinging lack of Spencer as he worked. And now, without the feed, without knowing he was at least _alive_ , his demeanour crumbled.

He barely felt the crackle of pain shrieking through his fist when he punched the door, all he could feel were the thoughts swirling around inside his head.

_He’s hurt. He’s hurting. He won’t last, not like this. He’s too young, too inexperienced. He’s never been through this kind of psychological torture. He was bending, about to snap._ That lithe, bubbly kid that rambled excitably for minutes at a time – _who knows how much of him would be left when all was said and done?_

\----

“You’ve done your part,” Raphael said evenly. “Now it’s my turn.”

Once more, he was alone. Only his handcuffs and the knowledge of what Tobias was going to do to those people to accompany him.

\----

_Reid, if you're watching, you're not responsible for this. You understand me? He's perverting god to justify murder._

_You are stronger than him._

_He cannot break you._

\----

“I thought you were going to try and get some rest.” Morgan watch JJ, taking in the stressed posture, the frizz of her normally flattened hair.

“Everybody else is working,” she points out. “I should be, too.” He shakes his head, almost disappointingly.

“We can handle it,” he assured. _Could they? Spencer was missing and the fissures in the framework of the team were only becoming more defined with every minute._

“It's funny,” JJ said with no trace of humour in her voice. She looked up to the ceiling, blinking back tears while Morgan took several long, tight blinks. “I keep thinking… the one thing we need to crack this case is, uh… well, Reid.”

“Yeah,” Morgan sighed. He turned away; his footsteps heavy against the floorboards.

“You think Reid and I should have stayed together at the barn, don't you?” Morgan looked up, meeting JJ’s eyes ad quirking his brow. He opened his mouth to argue before closing it again. He took a breath, trying not to picture the _look in his eyes when he stared into the camera_.

“JJ go get some rest,” he suggested finally. The plastic cup of straight coffee crinkled loudly when his hand tightened against the cup. Just because he was working himself ragged doesn’t mean everyone else should have to. He was doing this because _he couldn’t function properly without the kid safe._

“I can tell that's what you're thinking, so –”

“I just want to get Reid home safe,” he cut her off sharply. _He needs us. He has to be okay._

“But if I had his back, like – like I was supposed to, he'd be here now.” JJ clearly wanted someone to put the blame on her. It was common when someone was weighed down with their own guilt – they wanted somebody else to confirm they should feel that guilt.

“JJ, what do you want from me?” 

“I just I want _someone_ to tell me the truth.” Derek was honest. He was unashamed and blunt when he needed to be. Everyone knew that. Everyone came to him for the truth.

“The truth is one of you is here, and one of you isn't.” _Spence isn’t here, he’s someone else. Somewhere alone with a man on a psychotic break who swung between violence and God knows what else._ “You got to figure the rest out for yourself,” he said instead. He turned, leaving JJ in the kitchen in hope that she would take his advice and rest.

Hotch and Gideon were talking as they moved through the hall. Morgan leaned against the doorframe and nursed his coffee silently.

“We're not getting any closer,” Hotch pointed out regretfully.

“Reid's brilliant.” _He was the best of them all_ , Derek thought. “He'll figure out how to survive.” _He shouldn’t have to._

“You know, I always take advantage of Reid for his brain, but I never actually teach him how to deal with things emotionally.” Hotch blamed himself, if not for Spencer’s disappearance, for not teaching him the skills to deal with anything emotionally straining.

“Lead by example,” Gideon said simply.

“What kind of example is that?”

“He'll make it,” Gideon answered, his voice quieter now. Less sure of himself. Derek’s stomach churned with worry.

\----

Spencer had slept, not well, but he had slept somewhat. His head was still pounding, and his throat was raw. He barely registered the fuzzy outline of Tobias crouching beside him.

“Tobias?” _Please be him, please be him. I can’t take much more._

“Sorry. I had to leave for a while.” That was answer enough. The gentler voice, the sincere apology, Spencer had to make sure he wasn’t letting Stockholm syndrome kick in too harshly as relief flooded his system.

“You can leave again, a – a – and you can take me with you,” he tried. Tobias was the only personality this would work with. _Tobias was his only hope_ , he realised.

“My father would be angry,” Tobias murmured. His hands were busy, he was injecting a needle into the vial, Spencer knew what was coming.

“Not if he can't find us,” he tries again, with more desperation.

“He always finds me,” Tobias countered immediately.

“If you tell me where we are, my friends will come,” _my family, my everything_. “And they'll save us.” Tobias looks at him, flicks the needle with one finger. His hope dwindles like a dying flame.

“We can't be saved.” The belt is tightened around his arm again. Spencer can’t help but bite back a sob.

“We can. We can. I _promise_.” He’s begging again, hardly even aware of it. The room is swinging, and Spencer believes everything he’s saying. He wants to be saved, and somehow in his heart he wants Tobias to be as well. “If you tell me where we are, I'll save us both.”

“Listen to me,” Tobias commands. Spencer goes quiet. _Compliant_. He shrugs his arm out of the man’s grip. _Defiant_.

_Graceless_.

Tobias’ nails dig into his upper arm. Spencer winces. “It's not worth fighting.” He pulls back, weak but defensive even as the needle draws closer. “Tell me it doesn't make it better,” Tobias says softly. His hand relaxes, gently petting the sleeve of Spencer’s work clothes as he slips the medication in and presses down on the syringe.

_Dark._

_Darker._

\----

“No. No!” He’s woken with yelling. Tobias is striking a computer screen in anger. Spencer blinks fuzzily. “They're trying to silence my message!” Fury-fuelled eyed turn to face him. This isn’t Tobias.

“I can't control what they do,” he says in what he hopes is a placating tone. “I'm not with them – I'm with you!” Violence doesn’t react well with disobedience or overtly weak subservience. Spencer needs to keep his tone even, not threatening but not bearing his neck for the slaughter.

“Really?” The cracked screen reboots, Tobias hits another button. Gideon’s face appears. Hotch and Morgan are in the background of the clip. _His heart swells in his battered chest_.

“Reid, if you're watching, you're not responsible for this. You understand me? He's perverting god to justify murder. You are stronger than him. He cannot break you.”

_It hurts. In his chest, his lungs. He wants to go home._

_He wants his friends – his family._

_His everything._

“Do you think you can defy me?” Tobias’ demeanour is fury kept on a thin leash. He stands tall, broad. He looks capable enough to tear Spencer apart like a rabid dog.

“I don't know what he's talking about,” Spencer defends. He’s weak. _He’s hurting. Everything is stiff and dizzying. He’s graceless in his defences and it’s obvious to everyone and everything._

“You're a liar!” The man yells. Spencer flinches. Tobias looks down at him. The belt is back around his waist, but the track marks linger painfully against the pale skin of Spencer’s forearm as it’s exposed. Half of them Spencer remembers, the rest he has no recollections of. “You're pitiful! Just like my son.” Tobias spits. He’s aflame now, a waterfall of menace that won’t cease. A button makes a small noise in the corner. 

Spencer vaguely recognises the sound of the camera. The small, blinking light of the live stream.

His entire body shivers.

_They can’t see him like this. He’s cold, hot and feverish. There’s tears on his cheeks and blood in his hair. His hands tremble where they’re cuffed and resting on his lap and he’s exuding fragility. The weak point of the team, as he’s always feared._

\----

One of the screens Penelope was typing on flickered briefly. She paused, worrying at her lower lip. _“This ends now.”_ The live feed was back up, Gideon startled. Penelope’s fingers blurred across the keyboard. _“Confess your sins.”_ Hankel is fully in the frame now. He stands, his back to the camera. Spencer is beneath him in the same chair, his body shakes and twitches. He looks sick. He’s so much worse than before.

Gideon inhales sharply as the crack of their unsub’s hand reverberates across Spencer’s cheek. Penelope jumps in her chair, barely pausing her frantic tapping to scream.

“Morgan!” Footsteps rebounded from the surrounding rooms, “Morga –”

“Garcia! What’s happening?” Hotch with Morgan in tow skid into the room. Hotch is white in the face and Morgan squeezes his eyes shut when he sees the screen. Emily isn’t far behind.

_“Confess!_

_“I haven't done a – anything!”_

Derek gripped the desk holding the screens, his nails digging into the surface painfully. _The kid hadn’t done anything. It was wrong place, wrong time._ He straightened back up, turning to watch the screen again when Hankel’s arm raised. _He looks deathly, pale and tiny._

Spencer didn’t even cry out at the hit, he just jerked backwards in reaction, almost tipping sideways off the chair. His cheek was bright red, and his jaw was turning pink alongside it. He worked himself back onto the seat of the chair, tipping his chin up, not in defiance like a selfish part of Derek hoped, but to beg.

_“Tobias, help me.”_

_Stockholm Syndrome was kicking in,_ he noted bitterly as Spencer looked up at Hankel, his eyes shining, pleading. He looked so _small_.

_“He can't help you. He's weak!”_ Hankel cried. _“Confess!”_

_“Tobias…”_ The next was a smack, which arguably was better than a hit, Derek supposed, until Spencer turned back, his split lip viewable for a brief moment before his head dropped and he slumped forward in the chair. He was sobbing now, his chest shaking with every breath.

_“Confess your sins.”_ Spencer’s hands raised feebly above his face, barely able to protect himself. His hair, naturally long and somewhat unkempt but pushed back from his face, tucked behind his ears, was now stringy and mussed. Hankel wasn’t above using it as a handhold when he tugged Spencer’s heard harshly, forcing it upright until it waveringly bumped against his chest. _“Confess your sins,”_ Hankel hissed, his face inches away from the side of the boy’s head.

What Spencer answered with was so far from anything Derek had ever heard from the kid’s lips. He was trembling, his eyes closed tightly, but who he was speaking to was obvious.

_“Help.”_

The begging, or perhaps the mere fact that Spencer was begging to the team behind the camera, set Hankel into a rage. He roared, barely giving Spencer enough time to cower away from the sudden noise before he was throwing the chair backward, halfway across the room.

Derek bit through part of his cheek when the sharp, heavy sound of Spencer’s skull smacking against the floor flooded the speakers on the monitors. He closed his eyes in discomfort, but he snapped them open again when a severe wheezing followed it immediately.

Spencer’s body was jerking against the floor where it had crumpled, his eyes rolled back in his head. A line of foamy spittle trailed down his chin and neck as he convulsed. The wheezes grew more desperate, drowning out the rapid thudding of his skull repeatedly cracking against the floor with every spasm. 

“Oh my god. He's killing him.” Penelope cried, her bone-white knuckles clenching Gideon’s hand so taught Derek wondered if she’d be able to snap it.

“He’s seizing,” Hotch pointed out. He sounded as terrified as he was enraged.

_“It's the devil vacating your body.”_ Hankel said from the screen. He stood above the boy, doing nothing but watching as the tremors stopped abruptly, the only movement an odd twitch as the whites of Spencer’s eyes rolled back even further as his eyes shut. He was limp within seconds, his entire body going loose, gracelessly splayed across the floor, blood spattered across his cheek from the re-torn split lip and bruising across his face from the hits Hankel had dealt.

_He looked dead_ , Derek realised. _He **was** dead. His hair laid gentle across the wood like that, his pale face tilted to the side, his lashes quietly resting against his cheeks. His heart had stopped, chest no longer rising and sagging with air… and they had all watched on like bystanders._

_“Prayerless souls are Christless souls. Christless souls are Graceless souls, and Graceless souls shall soon be damned souls,”_ Hankel quotes as he nudged the side of Spencer’s head with the toe of his boot, promptly leaving the room when there was no reaction. No twitch. No wince or groan of pain. Absolutely nothing.

And that was when Derek truly comprehended that Spencer – _Spence_ – wasn’t ‘surviving’ like Gideon had insisted. 

He wasn’t holding on like they had all prayed he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give @spidersonangst @febufluff-whump (on Tumblr) all the credit, the only reason this is happening this month is because of them!


	3. Stabbed (Who is Found Will be Stabbed, and Who is Caught Will Die by the Sword)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choose, and prove you'll do God's will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wild times, huh.
> 
> Warnings for brief character death (continuation of last chapter), a single bad word >:) , mild beginning's of a panic attack (Derek Morgan whump wohoo) and obviously stabbing. And Spencer briefly hoping if he had to die, it would be of overdose and not blood loss - so not suicidal thoughts but kinda on the same track.
> 
> HALFWAY THROUGH MY ITALICS STOPPED WORKING AND IT'S ALREADY 11:30PM SO I'M POSTING ANYWAY BUT IGNORE THE SUDDEN LACK OF ITALICS WTF??!!  
> \----
> 
> Scream CM prompts and requests and ideas at me on my tumblr (same username as on here) pls I'm craving it <3

_I faintly hoped that if you could have heard me on your way to the afterlife, you would pause, turn, and come home to me._

“I – Is he, o – oh God, is he – is he breathing?”

“Come on, you’re okay, Reid. Come on back.”

_Wishing you could have stayed._

His fingertips where numb and staticky against his palms where they were squeezed. He blankly registered a pain weathering in the pit of his chest, physical – not emotional. His throat was closed, he couldn’t speak.

“I uh – I’m going to… yeah,” he managed through the welt bubbling in his oesophagus.

Penelope, who was breathing enough for the both of them, nodded. She understood, he knew.

_“Go get ‘em Sugar, shoot your shot.” She’d said, watching the man blinking dazedly across the bullpen in the direction of Spencer’s laughter._

When he had closed the door to the bathroom, he felt the weight sinking – crushing – at its full capacity. And it _hurt_.

_He was gone, he was gone. And he had **suffered**._

“F – fuck,” he choked, mostly to register the sound of his own voice. He had to gauge if this could even be real – a world without that kid…

He crouched, gently lowering himself to perch on his knees, the weight resting on his feet. He rubbed the back of his neck, rolling his knuckles forward to massage the edges of his temples slowly. Processing things took time, he had experience with deliberately ignoring terrible things as a coping mechanism. It wasn’t healthy, which was why he was forcing the fact that _Spence had just died on-screen, and all they had done was watch_.

He softly pressed the heel of his palms against his eye sockets, pressing hard until the tell-tale burning sensation, that said he was about to break, faded somewhat.

_“Do you ever worry about him?”_

_“Who?”_

_“Our Boy Genius, duh.” She twirls a finger, jutting her chin towards the door._

_“Why would I? He’s perfectly capable dealing with unsu –”_

_“Not like that.” Penelope rolled her eyes behind the bright pink-rimmed glasses she adorned. “Like – how he feels. Do you think he even wants… y’know, a bit a’ romancin’?” She giggles, ignoring how Derek sighs outwardly._

_“Baby girl, whatever Reid wants is none of my business,” he lies easily._

_“Sure, you tell yourself that, Chocolate Thunder.” Penelope sees right through him – and Derek kind of despises how much of a talker he is when he’s drunk._

He breathes lowly, in and out several times like he’s coaching someone through a panic attack. He’s alienating himself through the process, pretending he’s doing it for precaution and not because his lungs are shrieking, and he can’t take a breath without choking on a repressed scream.

“Derek.” Hotch doesn’t knock, doesn’t use his last name, barely acknowledges the fact that his agent was crouched against the sink, breathing like it was the only thing keeping him sane.

When Derek high-tailed out of the bathroom and back to the screen, JJ was there too, obviously having woken up from the yelling after the seizure.

Hankel was leant above Spencer’s body, their faces touching. Bile shuddered unhelpfully in Derek’s gut and his fists twisted against the fabric of his pants. Quickly though, Hankel pulled away from Spencer’s head. He was giving chest compressions robotically, showing barely a hint of emotion when he pinched the kid’s nose shut and breathed against his open airway. He moved abruptly back to compressions after one long, steadying breath.

_He was toying around with a corpse, at this point,_ Derek thought horrendously. It was a gruesome thought, a murderer messing around the corpse of his co-worker and best friend. He was about to move to Penelope’s side and suggest she turn the monitor off, because this was abhorrent, nobody needed to see any of this – the kid – let alone the parts of it after Spencer’s body had finally given way.

And suddenly Hankel was leaning back, breathing heavily as someone’s coughing filled the room.

He blinked. Staring harder at the screen.

Spencer’s chest arched, his chin tipped to the ceiling and his neck on display before another cough – a cough from _him _– echoed and the small of his back hit the floor again with a thud. His head moved to the side, his eyes screwing up tightly as his neck rolled his skull around plaintively.__

__

__Spencer blinked several times, tensing up as his brain processed everything._ _

__

__His chest rose and fell, albeit shakily, but he was breathing. The kid was holding on._ _

__

__Derek let out a breath of his own, one which held the weight of the knowledge that he had lost a teammate, a friend, and so much more._ _

__

__Penelope reached out, brushing two fingers over his wrist in invitation. Derek took hold of the offered hand, squeezing tightly as the two of them took shaky, hopeful breaths._ _

__

__Prentiss and Hotch were working some things out in rushed voices, and soon Penelope turned away, her hand falling back to the keyboard as she pulled up an area that mathematically, must contain wherever Hankel had been keeping Spencer. Derek turned his attention back to the screen, watching the panicky gulps Spencer was still sucking in as Tobias ran his hands disbelievingly across his torso._ _

__

____“For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life,”__ Tobias murmured. Derek watched the way a shudder ran along the kid’s frame as he was pulled closely against the man’s chest. The rest of the team went quiet, hearing the soft sound of discomfort making its way out of Spencer as he was embraced in a parody of comfort._ _

__

___“Wh – what?”_ _ _

__

___“Give, and it will be given to you,”_ Tobias explained, only making sense to himself. Handcuffs rattled as Spencer weakly pushed against the man’s chest, his nose wrinkling and eyes darting around the room wildly. _“Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured back to you.”__ _

__

__Spencer went rigid, clearly understanding what Derek and the team weren’t processing._ _

__

___“M – my life isn’t God’s gift to you, Tobias. You saved my life, that’s why I’m here.”_ Spencer’s frame slumped slightly, the effort of thinking and speaking obviously too much for him in this state. Hankel only pulled him closer._ _

__

___“Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.”_ The man’s arms were draped over Spencer’s shoulders, wrapped around his back._ _

__

___“Stop, please,”_ Spencer grumbled tiredly. He sounded exhausted; his frame entirely supported by Hankel’s. _“I’m not a sinner…”__ _

__

__Hotch, Gideon and Prentiss were hurriedly pointing at a map, JJ was chewing her cuticles nervously, but everything was faded into the background as Derek focused solely on Spencer._ _

__

__“I want that area locked down like its martial law. JJ, can you call –”_ _

__

__“Guys,” Penelope said sternly. Everyone’s attention snapped back to the screen like Derek’s had been._ _

__

__Hankel’s body had stiffened, Spencer had been laid back on the ground, his breathing rapid and broken by intermittent coughing. He was stood upright, his eyes narrowed and demeanour completely different to seconds ago._ _

__

___“You came back to life,”_ Hankel stated firmly._ _

__

___“Raphael.”_ Spencer recognised the demeanour well enough to match the personality Hankel had resumed. Whether that was a bad thing or something that would ultimately help the kid, Derek didn’t know._ _

__

___“There can be only one of two reasons.”_ _ _

__

___“I was given C.P.R.”_ Spencer blinked heavily, his cuffed hands shifting against his stomach._ _

__

___Don’t be a smartass now of all times, Spence,_ Derek silently prayed._ _

__

___“There are no accidents.”_ Hankel glared down at the prone form on the floor before him. _“How many members are on your team?”__ _

__

___“Seven,”_ Spencer answered without thought._ _

__

___“The seven angels who had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound. The first sounding that followed hail and fire mixed with blood, and they were thrown to earth.”_ Derek could hear Hotch explaining what Hankel was thinking, but he focused on Spencer as his chair was pulled upright. He was wincing and the muscles in his arms twitched sporadically._ _

__

___“Tell me who you serve.”_ _ _

__

___Nobody, the kid serves nobody,_ Derek ground his teeth together again. It was becoming habit now._ _

__

___“I serve you.”_ Spencer didn’t hesitate, his voice didn’t waver for a _second_._ _

__

___Stockholm syndrome? Or an accurate response derived from hours of profiling Hankel and his multiple personalities,_ Derek wondered._ _

__

___“Then choose one to die.”_ Spencer blanched, clearly not prepared for the demand._ _

__

___“What?”_ _ _

__

___“Your team members. Choose one to die.”_ It was clear when the spark of insolence glowed in Spencer’s eyes that flickered towards the camera for the briefest of moments before turning back to Hankel. He lifted his head, his back straightening slightly._ _

__

___“Kill me,”_ he demanded._ _

__

__“For fuck’s sake,” Derek said aloud, covering his face and wiping downwards in exasperation. Spencer was self-sacrificing and he had established that during many cases. But this? _This_ was going too far._ _

__

___“You said you weren't one of them,”_ Hankel replied evenly. Thankfully, there was no more anger present in his voice than before the kid’s remark._ _

__

___“I lied,”_ Spencer answered with as much bite as before. It was as if the idea of harm coming to the team had triggered some deep-rooted, protective instinct that didn’t get to surface often._ _

__

___“Your team has six other members,”_ Hankel sates simply, his tone slightly more irate now. _“Tell me who dies.”_ Spencer’s eyes narrow, his head giving two jerky shakes before he answers with certainty._ _

__

___“No.”_ _ _

__

___“Isiah thirteen, fifteen. Whoever is found will be stabbed, and whoever is caught will die by the sword.”_ Hankel turns away from the camera for a moment, shifting out of frame as Spencer’s head follows his movements. When he returns, there’s a glint, and Derek pales as he sees the blade clutched in the man’s fist. _“Choose, and prove you'll do god's will.”__ _

__

___“No.”_ Hankel raises the knife, it’s short and comes to a sharpened point. Derek recognises it as a boning knife. He’s seen them used on victim’s before in the cases he’s worked, and the idea of Spencer enduring that kind of pain almost makes him sick._ _

__

___“Choose.”_ Hankel has the knife pointing towards Spencer’s chest, he’s staring forward with cold, stony eyes._ _

__

___“I won't do it.”_ _ _

__

___“Life is a choice,”_ Hankel says as he gently bumps the point of the knife into the centre of Spencer’s torso._ _

__

___“No.”_ The blade pushes until it’s visibly forcing the clothing to brush against Spencer’s skin._ _

__

___“Choose.”_ Hankel’s tone is dark now, his eyes flashing in resentment. Spencer breaks eye contact, licking his lips as his face gives the telling scrunch that Derek understands wholeheartedly as an expression of deep thought._ _

__

___“Genesis twenty-three, four. Those who trouble their family will inherit the wind. The fool will be servant to the wise.”_ Hankel frowns threateningly, his grip on the blade tightening._ _

__

___“You think you can preach to defy me?”_ Spencer stares disobediently up at the man before him, taking no notice of the blade at his chest. Hankel leans close, pulling the knife back some as he speaks. _“For God’s will,”_ he hisses before violently shoving his arm forward again._ _

__

__The movement elicits a scream, and Derek’s brain takes a moment to register the fact that it’s Spencer crying out._ _

__

__Hankel has one hand against the kid’s shoulder, one still clutching the hilt of the knife, which is buried deep into Spencer’s lower, left side. His breathing is rapid but shallow, he hiccups once, twice, and then closes his eyes, his shoulders spasming as he moans._ _

__

__His head drops forward, resting against Hankel’s shoulder as he slowly twists the blade out. Spencer grunts, small whimpers broken by a vicious gag as his eyes roll beneath his eyelids and he collapses forward entirely. Hankel fully removes the hilt of the knife, pushing on the kid’s shoulder until he’s rested against the back of the chair, unmoving aside from the blood seeping a steadily growing patch of red over his clothes._ _

__

__He moves towards the camera and the feed shuts off._ _

__

__Penelope is sheet white, JJ is shaking, and Derek has to grip the edge of Penelope’s chair to stay standing on his dangerously weak legs._ _

__

__Hotch leaves the room, Gideon and Prentiss follow as he rifles through their table of evidence and picks up Hankel’s copy of the Bible._ _

__

__Derek can hear them all talking, but he can’t bring himself to follow them after a minute of breathing as JJ has done. Instead, he slips into the seat beside Penelope, wordlessly taking her hand and squeezing it once more. He can see the tears glistening behind her glasses, and although he is admittedly fighting back his own, he soothes her calmly. It’s a direct outlet for his emotional state, he’s worried – _terrified_ – for Spencer and wants nothing more than to hold him and get rid of the pain he’s suffered for _two days_ now._ _

__

__“… – and he also quoted Genesis, chapter twenty-three, verse four. Read it.”_ _

__

__"I am a stranger and a sojourner with you. Give me property, forbear a place among you that I may bury my dead out of my sight.”_ _

__

__"He wouldn't get it wrong unless it was on purpose.”_ _

__

__“He's in a cemetery,” he says quietly to Penelope. He could have easily gone to the other room with the rest of the team and relayed back to her, but being surrounded by everyone at the moment was too much. He needed Penelope; she was the only one who _really_ understood how much he was hurting seeing Spencer like this. Regardless, everyone was hurting, and once the room was filled back up with the rest of the team, Penelope spoke._ _

__

__“I don't see a cemetery,” she says wearily._ _

__

__“Call up the first time we saw Reid,” Gideon instructed. His voice is calm, slightly steadier than Hotch’s._ _

__

___“I won't choose who gets slaughtered and have you leave their remains behind like a poacher.”_ _ _

__

__“Check to see if there are any reports of poaching in the last couple of days.” Hotch is all business, hardly letting any emotion slither through. Derek can only bring himself to half-heartedly wish he could hold himself together as well._ _

__

__“Okay... Uh – a farmer reported two sheep being slaughtered on his property.” He perks up, hoping for anything that could narrow down their currently seventeen-mile radius._ _

__

__“Where are we talking?” Penelope pulls up the map, increasing it until the view is hovering over a smaller area._ _

__

__“What's that patch of green there?” JJ asks, pointing at a smudge of green across one grid point._ _

__

__“Marshall Parish. I think it's an old plantation,” Hotch answers, hope creeping its way into his tone too._ _

__

__“Wait. Tobias wrote in his journals about staying clean and keeping away from Marshall.” Emily is frantic, still focused and more hurried than hopeful. Like she’s rushing to confirm, rather than let herself hope._ _

__

__“Guys, there's a cemetery on the grounds.” Penelope turned, watching them pause and consider for hardly a second before each of them was flying off to collect guns, badges, vests and move to the cars._ _

__

___They had a chance. Spencer could hold out for them, they were coming. He would be okay,_ Derek told himself again and again until he was behind the wheel and could focus everything he had on getting to the kid as fast as humanly possible._ _

__

__\----_ _

__

__Spencer could feel the blood clotting his shirt against his skin. The heat radiating from his left side was more painful than anything he had ever experienced. He could barely keep his eyes open, let alone swallow the water spilling from the cup into his mouth. His dry lips, caked slightly with blood, adored the hydration, but any movement sent waves of pain in every direction outward from the still sluggishly bleeding stab wound._ _

__

__“Tobias, is that you?”_ _

__

__“Yes.” The cup was raised again, and graciously, but gingerly, Spencer leaned forward to drink again._ _

__

__“Thank you.” He looked up, leaning back in the chair with a poorly concealed groan. Tobias was watching him, his face concerned. “You saved my life,” he said carefully. Tobias looked away in shame._ _

__

__“I'm sorry.”_ _

__

__“Why?” He shouldn’t care, but he did. In his mind now, Tobias was separate from Charles and Raphael. Tobias didn’t hurt him. Tobias was as much of a victim as he was._ _

__

__“He'll win in the end,” Tobias admitted softly. He looked upset, like he had already decided Raphael and Charles would prevail._ _

__

__“Tobias, I need to know something,” Spencer said while Tobias was here with him. “It's important.” The times that Tobias was present were growing shorter and shorter. Spencer didn’t know if the next time his other side protruded, he would be able to survive. Not with the blood he was losing and the effort it was to stay conscious. “Are we in a cemetery?”_ _

__

__“Yes,” Tobias nods, looking down to prepare the box holding the vial and its needle. “I used to come here to get high,” the man confessed._ _

__

__“I was right.” Hopefully the team would find him before he succumbed to the wound in his side, or the drugs about to run through his veins. He wouldn’t be surprised if Tobias unintendedly overdosed him. In the end, overdosing would be less painful than bleeding to death, Spencer hoped._ _

__

__“No one bothers you here,” Tobias spoke as he wrapped the belt around Spencer’s arm again. He didn’t even have the strength to lean away from it anymore. “I never told anyone about it.” He didn’t flinch when Tobias injected him._ _

__

__The needle didn’t faze him, not when compared to the gaping hole in his side. It ached, and it burned horribly. Spencer briefly hoped the drugs might dull the raging anguish, or perhaps dull him altogether until he didn’t have the strength to register pain._ _

__

__But soon enough, the darkness came to carry him away._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scream CM prompts and requests and ideas at me on my tumblr (same username as on here) pls I'm craving it <3
> 
> \----
> 
> Give @spidersonangst @febufluff-whump (on Tumblr) all the credit, the only reason this is happening this month is because of them!


	4. Unfortunate (Like so Many Unfortunate Events in Life, Just Because You Don't Understand it Doesn't Mean it Isn't So)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many unfortunate things have already occurred in Spencer's time with Hankel, and yet, this somehow feels like the most unfortunate of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for graphic depictions of violence? That should be all for this chapter.
> 
> \----
> 
> _“But like so many unfortunate events in life, just because you don't understand it doesn't mean it isn't so.”_
> 
> This is a quote from Lemony Snicket because damn you know that man's a stunning writer!
> 
> \----
> 
> Scream CM prompts and requests and ideas at me on my tumblr (same username as on here) pls I'm craving it <3

_Weightlessness was a strange feeling. For once in his life, Spencer didn’t understand something. He knew the things around him weren’t real, the wooden bench he was curled comfortably on couldn’t be true. He was high, and wounded, but he embraced the fact that he couldn’t register pain as he did when he was awake, hidden away in that cabin._

_He could imagine the feeling of wind against his chilled skin, grass beneath his bare feet. He could hear trees moving around above him._

_“Hey.”_

_Spencer looked up; his head no longer heavy as it was when he was conscious._

_Derek smiled broadly at him; eyes soft as he neared the bench. “How are you?” He sat down, his ankles crossing as he shifted into place._

_“I’ll be okay,” Spencer found himself answering quietly. He picked at the dried blood on his sweater vest absentmindedly. Exhaling slowly, he looked up at the man beside him, managing a smile. Derek’s eyebrows furrowed worriedly in response. Sympathy, Spencer could tell._

_“You know we’ll find you, yeah?”_

_Did he? Spencer didn’t know if he had hope, all he understood was that if they wanted to succeed, they’d have to find him before he got sepsis from the stab wound._

_“Okay,” he whispered. Derek picked up his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Thank you,” Spencer murmured, resting his head against a sturdy shoulder and closing his eyes._

\----

“Is that a confession?”

“Hm?” Spencer screwed his eyes up, blinking in discomfort as he became increasingly aware of the throbbing in his side.

“I said, is that a confession?”

“W – what? Is what –” He stopped talking, swallowing thickly as the room swung. Everything was sticky and unclear, the entire world thrashing and churning around him as he fell between awareness and unconsciousness.

“You know your Bible?” Spencer forced his eyes open, turning his head slowly as to not upset the swirling room around him. He hummed, nodding as best he could. “Leviticus twenty, thirteen.”

“I – I… I don’t…” he closed his eyes, fighting the increasing nausea that threatened to cause problems.

Tobias smiled, moving to his side and crouching to his height. Spencer couldn’t tell who Tobias was at the moment. He was being gentle, and neither Raphael nor Charles had smiled so genuinely yet, but the way he kept silent was concerning.

Carefully, the man clutched his wrists, using a key to unlock both handcuffs. Spencer stayed unmoving and quiet, although he kept his hands lifted above his lap to aid Tobias in removing the restraints and belt from his arm.

“Grab a shovel,” Tobias said, his fingers tightening briefly against Spencer’s shoulder as he stood.

After several seconds, Spencer forced himself to stand. His body screamed in protest with the movement, his knees shaking unsteadily as he shuffled forward. He stumbled briefly at the door leading to the porch, and only barley managed to avoid introducing his face with the pavement as Tobias gripped the back of his shirt.

Dully, he took note of the fact that the man had a larger knife now, it looked like a trailing point blade, but then again it was dark outside. He took the steps two at a time until his feet brushed over the leaves littered across the dirt of the cemetery, wholly relying on Tobias to keep him from falling as he was led through the trees.

After a few minutes of Spencer half walking, half being dragged, Tobias slowed. He stopped in the centre of an area mostly devoid of tombstones but surrounded by trees on every side. It was flat, one side inclined slightly after several feet. “Kneel,” Tobias – who was showing more of Raphael’s tendencies – ordered. Spencer complied.

“What am I –”

“Dig,” the man interrupted sharply. The shovel he had carried hit the ground beside Spencer, rustling the leaves. After a moment of gingerly holding one hand against his side, Spencer wrapped one hand around the handle.

The first layer of dirt was hard and crusted, mixed thoroughly with leaves. The wound in his side was steadily beginning to make itself known with every movement he made. If he could have, he would collapse against the leaves and curl up into himself, but Tobias’ lingering presence kept him too on edge to even attempt halting his movements.

His mind was present in the situation, but the drugs were still in his system and it coated everything with a hazy layer of delusion. When he moved his head, vertigo settled deep within his chest, the trees circling him and the night sky swinging around wildly.

“I ought to bury you alive in there,” Tobias said after a long stretch of silence aside from the methodical clanking of the shovel against the dirt. Spencer panted, groaning as he paused to shakily stop the slow dredges of blood that began leaking from his side again at the movement. “Give you time to think about what you’ve done.”

“I don’t _know_ what I’ve done.” Spencer looked up, taking a moment to rest from the endless digging to watch Tobias. He was leaning against a tree, knife in hand, gun in pocket and scowl painted across his face.

“Don’t talk back to me,” he warned, the knife point tilting dangerously in his direction. Spencer pressed harder against the wound, biting back a noise of pain and forcing himself to focus on the fact that he had to stop the bleeding as soon as he could, considering how much blood he’d already lost. He was already weak enough, but the further drop in blood left him dangerously close to passing out. “Dig,” Tobias ordered again.

Spencer was grateful majority of the dirt was soft enough to remove from the hole without much force on his end of the shovel.

It felt like hours had passed, but it was likely barely brushing a single hour when he came upon a harder layer of clay. By now, his wound had only just begun to stop bleeding, but it still protested every small movement, especially once he reached the clay about two and a half feet deep. “What are you stopping for?”

Spencer wheezed, squeezing his side once before lifting the shovel again. It made a horrid scraping noise as it hit against the ground. “Dig faster!” Tobias yelled. He paused, leaning against the handle of the shovel and resting his dirt-smeared forehead.

“I’m not strong enough,” he admitted between breaths. His side was howling in agony, his vision was blurry and darkened at the edges every time he tried to move more than an inch. He was dehydrated, starved, bleeding and coming down from a particularly heavy dosing. He felt battered, like a walking corpse trying to hold all of its limbs together.

Tobias stiffened, his face darkening as he stormed forward. Spencer jerked minutely as the man tore off his own jacket, his voice thunderous as he yelled.

“You’re all weak!” He stopped at the edge of the hole, gesturing wildly with the knife in his hand. “Get out of there,” he seethed.

Spencer was grateful for the break from the work. He used one elbow on the lip of the hole he had partially dug, grunting as he hauled himself over the edge and crouched in the leaves, the knees of his pants soiled by the moist leaves. Tobias snatched the shovel, keeping the knife in one hand as he easily forced a scoop of clay to the side to the sound of Spencer’s strained wheezing.

He leaned back into the ground, letting it support him as he watched the sky and trees tilting around him. It took too many minutes for him to catch his breath. His side was no longer bleeding, but it ached in a new way – deep and scorching. When he turned his head to the side, half expecting a coiled-up onslaught of nausea, his eyes caught a silver handle jutting out of the pocket of Tobias’ discarded jacket.

_The gun._

Spencer perked up, ignoring the darkness in the corners of his vision as he sat up in favour of cautiously glancing towards Tobias. His head was turned away, focusing on jaggedly heaving clumps of rock and clay to the side where Spencer’s mound of removed soil sat near the edge of the hole.

His heart rate picked up in hope. Shuffling slowly, he leaned to the side. The jacket was a foot away from him, he could reach out and touch its sleeve. He waited anxiously, holding himself in place until Tobias had leaned downwards to scoop the next layer away. Once the man was turned as far away as possible, Spencer gripped the sleeve of the jacket and wrenched it towards himself.

He fumbled with the fabric, shoving his hand into the pocket as he heard the shovel being dropped behind him. “What do you think you’re doing, boy?!” Spencer wrapped his hand around smooth metal, kicking himself backward as he snapped the safety off and lifted the weapon.

Tobias was pressed against the side of the hole, his knife pointing in Spencer’s direction, ready to pull himself over the edge and grab at the boy. He glared, the knife never wavering as he growled, “Only one bullet in that gun, boy,” before throwing himself forward.

Spencer squeezed the trigger.

\----

_“On S.W.A.T we broke shots down into three steps. One, front sight. Focus on the front sight, not on the target. After the shot, you come right back to the target. Now what did you do wrong?” Spencer sighed, peeling off his earmuffs despondently._

_“I didn't follow through,” he answered petulantly._

_“Right,” Hotch touches his shoulder, pointing to the target. “You came off the target to see where you hit.” He turns, narrows his eyes sympathetically. “It’s not easy, but once you’ve ingrained those three steps into your head, you’ll hit the target every time.” He gives Spencer’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting go, leaving his earmuffs to the side. “Good luck tomorrow,” he says as he leaves the firing range._

_Spencer rolls his neck back, sighing again before readjusting his protective gear and lifting his gun once more._

\----

The gun clicks and Spencer is prepared for the recoil that never comes. He pulls the trigger again, and then Tobias is on him.

Statistically speaking, he had a one in six chance of the gun actually firing the single bullet that had been loaded, so he should have expected that nothing would come from pulling the trigger. But everything happens so fast his jumbled mind can’t process what’s happening as the man wraps a hand around his ankle and pulls hard.

_But like so many unfortunate events in life, just because you don’t understand it doesn’t mean it isn’t so._

He cries out as he’s snatched forward, leaves pulling offendedly at his clothing as he instinctively rolls onto his stomach, grabbing onto everything he can for leverage. His nails collect dry, freshly upturned dirt as he grapples against the grip the man has on him. He kicks out, wailing again as he feels nails scraping lines down his leg as the grip slips.

When he pulls himself onto his hands and knees, he thinks he has a chance to reach the gun and fire again as Tobias climbs his way out of the shallow pit, but he’s miscalculated. The man jumps, his arms wrapping around Spencer’s waist before gravity pulls him back downward. With the new grip, as Tobias falls to the hard rock and clay floor of the pit, Spencer is pulled down with him.

They both hit the ground with a gasp, the wind knocking from their lungs. Spencer coughs, his dry throat crackling as his bruised body heaves in oxygen. The man beside him recovers quickly, and within seconds he’s straddling the boy, fists gripping the front of his shirt and tearing him upwards.

Tobias is yelling something, shaking him roughly, but his vision is spotting fuzzily, and he can’t seem to pull in enough air –

Something jarring rips through him, radiating within his wound. He doesn’t know what it is, all he can tell is that the torment is utterly _obliterating_.

He screams, raw and unbidden as he writhes beneath it.

He can feel something moving – digging – beneath his shirt, under his skin and he gags forcibly. All he can see is white popping beneath his eyelids and his own howls are beginning to reverberate inside his skull. Tobias is still hollering above him, one hand in his hair and the other – the other hand is – 

Spencer realises then, that the movement beneath his skin is Tobias, his fingers tearing apart flesh, digging deep into the stab wound with his broken, dirt covered nails.

He chokes once, opening his eyes enough to see the man’s crazed face, the promise of absolute and infinite destruction gleaming in his eyes, and then his remaining consciousness ebbs away with the final crook of a finger in his side.

\----

If the original drive to Hankel’s address had broken traffic laws, Derek doesn’t know what the drive to the cemetery’s cabin was. He hardly used anything but the accelerator and from the way Hotch and Prentiss had been clutching the armrests, he probably should have utilised the breaks more than he did.

By the time they arrived, two cars filled with members of the local police department had caught up with them and an ambulance was on its way, approximately fifteen minutes out. Over the sound of the four vehicles pulling up, he could make out a cut-off scream from somewhere ahead of them.

“Hotch –” he hissed, his gun and flashlight raising to point forwards at the treeline. Garcia was in everyone’s ears, directing them towards the cabin.

Without argument, Derek stayed at Hotch’s side, not falling back for even a second as they flanked the small building from all angles. Typically speaking, he was the one to kick doors in, and Hotch entered the room first. Tonight, however, Derek took position to have the first clear entry point into the structure.

Alongside himself, Hotch, Gideon and JJ were gathered on the porch, guns drawn and ready when Gideon gave the go-ahead yell.

Hotch slammed his foot against the door, it knocked aside easily, and Derek was in the front room almost immediately.

“F.B.I!”

Their guns swing wildly around the room, flashlight beams arcing over every surface. Derek’s hope dwindles as he listens to each concurrent ‘clear’ as the entire cabin is swept. Once the initial tension and adrenaline fades, guns lower and eyes start to truly begin analysing everything.

“What’s that smell?” Emily asks, taking a moment before finding the gutted and slowly rotting fish in one corner of the room.

“Let’s spread out,” Hotch meets Derek’s eyes with remorse. “They have to be on foot,” he points out as the team files back outside. “Go.” He turns away from the chair in the centre of the room where the handcuffs and belt rest. “Get in pairs or group up, everyone fan out. They’ll be on the property somewhere.”

Derek is tense as each grouping begin charging in different directions, flashlight beams working outward from the cabin. Hotch is at his side, each of them on edge, ready to react.

They’ve barely been looking for half a minute when both Gideon and Prentiss’ voices flood the channel.

“We’ve got something – Hankel’s here.” Hotch turns, marching towards the three flashlight beams about two hundred feet from where they had been searching. Derek follows, both of them breaking into a jog, slipping over the leaves uncaringly.

One of the local police department men has Hankel on the ground, he’s busy cuffing the man. Gideon is hovering and Prentiss is chewing at the inside of her cheek as Hotch and Morgan break through to the situation.

“Where is he?” Hotch snaps demandingly, watching as Hankel is raised onto his legs and stood upright. “Where’s my agent?” Their unsub is calm, completely dedicated to his delusion as he begins to spout.

“Leviticus twenty, thirteen. He committed an abomination. _They shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them_.” He’s held firmly in place, and Derek almost wishes the man would try to struggle so the arresting officer had an excuse to use more force.

“What does that mean? Where is he?!” Gideon yells, stepping forward angrily.

“Numbers sixteen, thirty-three,” Hankel states. Derek can hear Prentiss asking Garcia to figure out what the verses mean, but he’s watching Gideon pushing closer to the man, demanding an answer.

“Guys, _guys_ ,” Prentiss yells. Derek and Hotch turn to face her, Gideon still glaring down Hankel. “We need to keep looking,” her tone is grave and something in her eyes ignites a flame of anxiety in the pit of Derek’s stomach.

It must be obvious in his face, because it provokes an answer from his teammate. “Garcia – she pulled up John sixteen, thirty-three. _He’s saying he buried Reid alive_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scream CM prompts and requests and ideas at me on my tumblr (same username as on here) pls I'm craving it <3
> 
> \----
> 
> Give @spidersonangst @febufluff-whump (on Tumblr) all the credit, the only reason this is happening this month is because of them!


	5. Broken Heart (He Cannot Decide What Would be the Worst Form of Heart Break)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally, Derek thinks that to see someone you love in so much pain, that is the worst form of heartbreak. 
> 
> And now?
> 
> Now he believes the worst form of heartbreak would be a world in which Spencer Reid doesn't wake up with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I'll probably come back to this and add one more chapter of aftermath, withdrawl, comfort and/or etc. 
> 
> But for now, here is whatever this is. BecauseIdon'tknowwhatitis!

_To see someone you love in so much pain, that is the worst form of heartbreak._

Emily’s words rang in Derek’s head. Buried alive. Hankel had supposedly twisted the Bible so much, that he believed burying someone alive was God’s will.

“Where did you bury him?!” Gideon was gripping Hankel’s shirt now, following as the arresting officer began walking the man towards the nearest squad car. The man’s hands were covered in dirt alongside his clothes. Defensive wounds encompassed the parts of his arms that were exposed, fingernail sized scratches running vertically towards his elbow and disappearing beneath his sleeves. There was something liquid clumping together with the dirt covering his right hand, turning it to mud. Light flickered over Hankel, and Derek realised with a sickening certainty that it was blood.

“…– organ? Morgan!” He turned, Hotch was directing everyone in sporadic areas, he was rushed and frantic. “Morgan,” he repeated, “let’s go.”

He nodded, tucking his gun away and focusing on the beam of his flashlight instead. They would find him; it had barely been two minutes since they had heard the cut-off scream as they pulled onto the property. If he was truly buried somewhere, he would be alive as long as they found him soon.

“Look for fresh or upturned dirt and a shovel. Reid’s got to be close.” The team nodded, splitting back off into their groups as before. If it was possible, everyone seemed more determined now, more rushed. They were on a time limit before, but now it held so much more importance. If they didn’t find Spencer soon, he would suffocate, and they’d end up pulling his corpse out of the dirt.

“Hotch, down there,” Derek’s flashlight bounced back at them both, reflecting off something at the bottom of the hill.

The leaves slid out from beneath their feet as they each slipped down the decline of the hill. Hotch clipped his flashlight to his belt and dropped down to the ground, picking up the shovel while Derek swung his flashlight around them in large sweeping motions.

The beam caught an overturned pile of fresh dirt where the shovel had laid. Beside it were the remnants of the top layer of soil, grassy mounds tipped on their sides.

“Prentiss, we need backup. To your left there’s a hill, we’re at the bottom of it. Bring the local P.D with you.” Hotch dropped the shovel as Derek lowered the flashlight and reached outwards, pushing aside the poorly strewn leaves. He shoved at the soil, ignoring the noise of his teammates quickly descending the slope.

“Reid? Reid!” Derek scrambled against the dirt with Hotch, not hesitating for a moment as they dug. His heart pounded dangerously against his chest as he peeled back layer after layer of soil and clay. “Stop – _stop!”_ He gripped something cold, brushing with a gentler hand now until he hit pale skin. “Spence?”

A chilled, bloodied hand rose from the ground as Derek pulled. The dirt wasn’t packed, so tugging Spencer out was easy despite the fact that he seemed to have been two feet deep. He grasped the kid beneath his shoulders, pulling him clear of the earth and backing up onto the leaves. He was entirely coated in dirt, it was knotted in his hair and resting in the dips of his sunken collarbones.

Derek could distantly hear Hotch calling for EMT’s. Prentiss and JJ were dropping to his side as he laid Spencer out flat.

His eyes were closed, face covered in a layer of grime and form limp as he was shifted around. “Hey – Spence, can you hear me?” Derek had enough training to sever his emotional ties to the situation, focus on the victim and alienate himself until all he could concentrate on was the steps of resuscitation. He placed two fingers against the junction of the kid’s jaw and neck, feeling for a pulse as he lowered his ear to Spencer’s chest, listening and feeling for breaths.

There was a weak, erratic pulse, but no breathing. “Okay – okay,” he mumbled, cupping the man’s jaw with one hand to check his airway. From what he could tell, it was clear. “What’s the ETA on those medics?” He asked, leaning down as he waited for an answer and pushing two rescue breaths into Reid’s lungs. His chest rose with the movement but stilled immediately as Derek stopped breathing for him.

“A few minutes, Gideon’s saying the ambulance just arrived,” Prentiss answered hurriedly. It was clear she wanted to help, but the best thing everyone could do was stay clear of the area while Derek began compressions with both his hands.

It was horrible to feel the way Spencer’s ribs bent and dipped under the pressure, and Derek knew he would be leaving bruises on the younger man’s torso. He continued on until he felt a hand on his own chest, guiding him out of the way as the medics stepped in. His arms twitched with the lack of movement.

Hotch stood as Derek did, both watching as an EMT took over the compressions.

“They’re driving Hankel back to the station, Gideon volunteered to lead the interrogation once he’s been processed.” Hotch levelled Derek with a glance, a wordless check-in. He nodded silently, swallowing the bubble of worry stirring in his gut.

There was a rattling breath, and Derek jerked to see Spencer’s chest constricting as he inhaled before coughing roughly. Immediately, there was an oxygen mask pressed over his face and a backboard lowered at his side. He groaned as the EMT’s shifted him onto it, before promptly going quiet again.

They lifted him carefully, and Derek followed. “Morgan, go with him. I’ll have Garcia driven to the nearest hospital by an officer to stay with the two of you while we deal with the scene.” Hotch gripped his shoulder, his expression serious. “Call me with every update.”

“Y – yeah. Yeah, of course,” he managed, already moving aside to hover as the EMT’s walked meticulously up the slope.

\----

“Where is – how is he? Oh, Morgan.”

Derek was enveloped. Penelope graciously wrapped him in an embrace, her mascara slightly running but smeared as if she had tried to compose herself during the drive to the hospital. She was somehow anxious herself, yet sympathetic towards the expression on Derek’s face at the same time. “Have they said anything yet?”

“Uh, yeah. One of the nurses did.” Penelope pulled back from the hug, dabbing at her under eyes with the pads of her fingers and giving a reassuring smile as Derek continued. “They’re going to run some tests, clean him up and stitch the uh – the wound.”

“Oh, that’s good then,” she breathed. “He’s not critical?”

“No, just – just unconscious and… well I guess they’ll explain everything else to us.” Penelope nodded, planted herself in the waiting chair beside where Derek had been perched for the last half hour, and patted the chair beside her.

“How’re you holding up, Sugar?”

_I don’t know. How am I supposed to answer that?_

“I’ll be fine,” he responded. “Just worried about the kid is all.” Penelope pursed her lips but acknowledged the answer all the same. She leaned back, getting comfortable and tapping her foot against the linoleum as they waited.

Derek had been friends with Penelope long enough to know what the series of heavy, sideways glances she was giving him meant. She hit her fingernails against the armrest of the chair, twisting her array of rings around her fingers.

“You know,” she began out of nowhere. “When Boy genius wakes up and gets better, because he will,” she adds. “You should uh, you should tell him.” Derek stayed quiet, his elbows on his knees and chin cradled in both hands. “Y’know, tell him that yo –”

“Yeah, I know,” he interjected. Penelope went quiet, understanding the lacking need to fill the silence and closing off their discussion.

\----

“Spencer Reid?”

Penelope perked up, standing quickly as a woman in a blue uniform and a tight, pulled back pony approached them.

“Yes, yeah that’s us.” She looked back to the chair beside her as Derek roused. His eyes had been closed for the past ten minutes and Penelope hadn’t bothered to disturb him seeing as he had stayed awake for over forty-eight hours while Spencer was elsewhere. If she had believed she could have convinced him to go to their motel and sleep, she would have tried. But this was Derek Morgan, he could be frustratingly stubborn when he felt like it.

“What’s happening? Is he alright?” Derek stood, swaying for a moment before he seemed to melt back into a professional, restrained persona. His back straightened and he turned to look at the nurse with a practiced look in his eyes. Detached from his emotions, but caring, exactly how the team acted on a case.

“We gave him a blood transfusion; his blood pressure was low when he arrived.” _Well they knew that much considering he had a knife buried to the hilt in his side several hours earlier._ “He was given stitches for the puncture wound and cleaned up to prevent any infections.” She was holding a form and read off it as she spoke. “We’d like to keep him admitted during the detox period to monitor him.”

“Why does he… – what was in his system?” Penelope asked, her head tilting as if she was trying to read the form in the woman’s arms.

“He had levels of Dilaudid in his system that suggest he was given multiple doses. It’s an opioid that hospitals often use as a substitute for other types of pain relievers.” Penelope looked slightly upset by the information, but Derek had unfortunately pictured the possibility after finding out about Tobias Hankel’s addiction, and his tendency of fleeing to the cabin he had taken Spencer to when the addiction grew to be too much.

“How long will the detox take, and when can we see him?” He asked civilly.

“Honestly? An opioid addiction can take anywhere between five and fourteen days. It’s dependant on the patient and how quickly the symptoms of detoxing dissipate.” Derek nods, watching as Penelope struggles to keep professional. It’s painfully clear how much she wants to see him, and Derek feels about the same. “He’s resting now, I would suggest going home for now and visiting once he’s recovered from the exhaustion.”

“We’re going to stay stationed for now,” he stated. He held up his badge, ignoring the stirring in his gut. It must have come across as if he were there for Spencer’s protection, because the woman took one look at the F.B.I symbol before speaking again.

“You can wait in his room with him, I’ll have an extra chair brought in.” Penelope smiled, her bracelets jangled together as she followed Derek down the hall and pushed her way into a small, private room.

“Alright Baby Girl, let’s –”

“Oh, look at him, Morgan…” she was stood at the head of the bed, her hand resting gently on Spencer’s cheek beside the mess of bruising. “Our Boy Genius,” she whispered. Derek moved to her side, taking the hand she lifted away from the kid’s face and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Spencer was hooked up to an I.V, covers of the bed tucked up to his chest and face almost as pale as the pillowcase. The arm not hooked up was littered in track marks and a long, dark bruise wrapped around the area just above them, no doubt from the belt they had seen at the cabin. His jaw had a mark, as did the cheek Penelope had just cupped softly. Dark bags beneath his eyes could have been mistaken for bruising, but Derek had seen Spencer with marks just like that during long, tough cases, so he knew better.

His face wasn’t sunken in or gaunt like victims from other cases, but he did look small in the large bed, swaddled with cords and tubes. But then again, Spencer’s height could be deceiving in comparison to his lean, lithe frame.

Derek turned away after a moment, moving instead to scoot the single chair beside the bed and gesture for Penelope to sit.

“I’m going to call Hotch,” he explained. Penelope sniffled, picked up Spencer’s limp hand and nodded at Derek with conviction as he stepped into the hallway, door left open.

\----

Something warm was in his left hand, brushing gently against his wrist.

His body felt surprisingly devoid of pain, his side stung weakly when he took a deep breath, but aside from that there was only a slight feeling of pins and needles.

“Hey, Boy Wonder.”

_“Hm?”_ He peeled his eyes open, wincing at the light, trying to focus on something solid as he blinked rapidly.

“How does everything feel?” Penelope smiled, the warm feeling in Spencer’s hand grew tighter. “Your new robot bod is lookin’ pretty sexy –”

“What?” He twitched, lifting his head briefly. “I don’t –”

“Relax, she’s joking, kid.” He complied, settling himself against something soft as his eyelids fluttered. He shifted, looking to his other side where the other voice came from. “Morning,” Derek greeted. His face was slightly less clean-shaven than Spencer could remember, and his eyes were squinty, like he needed sleep.

“Hi,” he croaked. His throat registered more pain than his side, it felt scratchy and barely usable. “Hospital?” He asked, blinking more now.

“Of course. Speaking of –” Penelope upturned the hand she was holding, placing a plastic cup with a paper straw in it. “Drink up, bub.” Spencer wrinkled his nose – that was a new nickname – but did as he was told. His grip slipping a few times, and the cup wobbled precariously on its way to his lips, but the water was too helpful for him to complain. His throat unstuck, and after half a minute the cup was emptied.

The cup was set back down for him, and he looked forward, resettling himself for the second time against what he guessed was a bed.

He was aware of the fact that both Penelope and Derek were watching him, probably profiling everything he did. It was unsettling to have this much attention, but he also knew the two of them – as well as everyone else – had probably been terrified out of their minds when Tobias had filmed things.

“Sorry I scared you,” he apologised earnestly.

Penelope softened, her hand pulling Spencer’s up for an emotive kiss on one of his knuckles.

Derek, however, laughed aloud. He tilted his head, facing his teammate with a weak smile, watching his expression. It was an exasperated laugh, one fuelled by relief.

_“You know we’ll find you, yeah?”_

“Morgan,” he said quietly. The older man leaned forward in his chair, his face finally tempering as Penelope’s had. “Thanks for finding me.” He looked up, a silent conversation through eye-contact and facial expressions passed with Penelope before he met Spencer’s eyes again.

“Thanks for holding out long enough for us,” Derek replied.

_The worst form of heartbreak,_ he thinks, _is a world where the look on your face when you wake up after something as torturous as this, is no longer a smile._

_And yet, you still smile at me now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scream CM prompts and requests and ideas at me on my tumblr (same username as on here) pls I'm craving it <3
> 
> \----
> 
> Give @spidersonangst @febufluff-whump (on Tumblr) all the credit, the only reason this is happening this month is because of them!


	6. Post-Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detox and recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meh.

The hospital had a separate wing for detoxing periods, and once the initial risk of infection had been quelled, Spencer was relocated.

The team was required back in Quantico after Gideon’s interrogation of Hankel, and once the loose ends of the case were tied up. Hotch managed to get Derek cleared to stay in Georgia until Spencer was allowed to fly home, but it wouldn’t have mattered regardless. He had enough personal leave to take an extended absence, which he would have done.

The hospital was big on having a circle of support during detox periods, and with the added assistance of his FBI badge and a stack of paperwork to be filled out, Derek was set up in a small cot at the side of Spencer’s room.

The first symptoms cropped up after twelve hours, but they weren’t unlike Spencer at any other point in time. Jittery, yawning every few minutes, tossing and turning in the hospital bed that Derek couldn’t tear his eyes away from.

The track marks are obvious even when the lights are dimmed, and he’s sat across the room quietly. He holds a book, so Spencer doesn’t feel watched, but the both of them profile for a living and they each blink at one another when their eyes meet.

Day three is when the persistent bolts for the bathroom begin. Derek spends majority of day three and four sat cross legged on the floor of the bathroom, running one hand over the bumps on the kid’s spine, filling up water glasses and flushing bile down the toilet.

He speaks outside with a nurse, and Spencer glares at the woman when she has a talk with him about non-opioid pain medication for the abdominal pains that wrack through him and tear at the stitching when he tremors from it.

On the night of the fourth day – or the morning of the fifth, Derek couldn’t tell – he sits in the corner with his back against the door, holding Spencer while he bites back tears.

“I – I never – I’ve never _needed_ anything more than this before. Please, please, _please_ Morgan.”

He lays a hand against Spencer’s temple and uses the corner of his sleeve to gently wipe at the cold sweat gathering in the skeletal dips of his neck. He shudders intermittently, and the nurses check in more than they did in the first forty-eight-hour span.

On the fifth night, his arms are littered with little crescent moon indents from Spencer’s never relenting grasp.

“This is going to kill me, I’m gonna – I can’t –”

He rests his chin against the boy’s shoulder, cupping the back of his head and briefly rocking his own body side to side until the shaking lessens enough for the small voice in the back of head to stop singing, _what if it does? What if there is something wrong and this is going to take him like the overdose did?_

“Don’t be stupid,” he says quietly when Spencer’s stilled enough to possibly have fallen asleep. “You’d be less fun if you were dead.”

His voice cracks but he knows Spencer will remember his words, because it’s the first smile he’s presented since the transfer into the detox unit.

Despite the smile, he’s having to hold Spencer up as he heaves over the toilet again for three hours the same evening.

Days six and seven are as pleasant as a detox period could be. He lounges on the edge of the comfier bed Spencer had for twelve hours, half-heartedly reading a book while the form beside him tosses and turns until stiffening with sleep, his face pushed into the space between Derek’s shoulder and the stack of pillows.

Spencer’s quieter on the eighth day, fatigued and churning through the last of his post-acute withdrawal. But he let’s Derek pick up his hand after too many long minutes pass spent staring at the ceiling with his despondent, brown eyes.

“Will things be different now?” Spencer asks hoarsely.

“Now that I know what you look like after you’ve puked your guts out? No, probably not,” Derek answers with a casual, lopsided grin. Spencer exhales through his nose in good spirit, a weak smile crossing the threshold of his exhaustion. “I saw you die,” Derek says after a moment of silence. “And I couldn’t do anything except watch.”

Spencer tightens at his side, his fingers slipping. “I think the only thing that changes is – is how much I understand about myself.” He can feel Spencer’s chin turning towards him, neck arching until he faces him. “About how I feel,” he finishes.

Spencer nods, turning back to face the ceiling.

“That’s good,” he whispers.

\----

Despite the recommendation, the day that they arrive back in Quantico, after Spencer has napped in Derek’s guest room for six hours, the team visits.

They visit in pairs, at least.

Penelope just hugs him for what feels like hours while Emily and JJ leave a stack of over sixty books for him from what they claim was a library culling. Gideon and Aaron sit quietly and allow a game of poker, complaining bitterly when Spencer wipes the floor with them even with his still shaky hands.

He keeps the take-out Derek ordered down for the whole night. He even manages to pass out on the couch while Derek watches re-runs of old Superbowl games that he knows bore the kid to sleep.

The stitches in his side were dissolvable and now that they had allowed the wound to close up slightly, he showers. He had been washed down after arriving at the hospital, but there was nothing greater than being alone under a warm spray after the ordeal.

Derek towel dries his hair and claims he doesn’t need the kid pulling the remainder of the stitches, which is a bold-faced lie and both of them know it. Spencer bites back a retort and instead let’s his friend do what he needs to feel comforted. And if that happens to be very relaxingly drying his overgrown hair, then so be it.

\----

“I just think… seeing you like that – it – it made me realise –”

_“Yeah.”_

“Yeah?”

_“I know, Derek.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scream CM prompts and requests and ideas at me on my tumblr (same username as on here) pls I'm craving it <3
> 
> \----
> 
> Give @spidersonangst @febufluff-whump (on Tumblr) all the credit, the only reason this is happening this month is because of them!

**Author's Note:**

> Aha, y'all thought I'd end it here! You were fooled.
> 
> Basically I just ran out of time to write everything I wanted to. The story diverges from the episode a bit more after this chapter, and there'll be a bit more whump than the show had, but you have to be patient with me. I swear it'll come together in the end.
> 
> \----
> 
> Give @spidersonangst @febufluff-whump (on Tumblr) all the credit, the only reason this is happening this month is because of them!


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